The month of the Mad Marching Hare, Dark Mountain, Schumacher, Theosophical Society & Point to Pointing…

This March is most assuredly as mad as a hatter ever there was…great stuff…

I am so close to tears, so much emotional energy and physical-ness- is pouring out of me…this past week and a half has and is pure Warrior energy…As I dived into the watery landscape of March the mad hare month, and faced all things unfolding, it was a very enlightening surprisal appraisal of all things good, authentic and playful. Spring was in deed around this corner and it came in the bag full as we moved from precarious Pisces to the demonstrative action Aries. I want this to sound good and well, and not too crazy, however it was crazy, it was deep, it was syncretistic, I did learn so much, and I have met such a variety of world workers from all walks, as well as step with my own dear blood family. Celebratory seems to be this months trajectory. And on top, I highly recommend that everyone switches off their main stream medial mechanisms, and tunes in to themselves, firstly, in so to allow self-development, non judgmental partisan behaviours and self-awareness that leads to full creative potentials….I have learnt the hard way in the times before, and I have leant to feel the force of flow and catch it in the waves. So where to begin this story?

March unfolded and sprang into an up and early to catch the many worms as I  found myself working the door at MorningGloryVille…a sober dance party in east london that was themed on Africa. -us

Then to actually fall in love with Tom Hardy from a suggestion of watching Taboo from some dear customers from Islington Farmers Market and yes, I almost began a stalker campaign….he and his father wrote Taboo, however when filming, apparently it took a life of its own esoterically as though spirits from the other world wished to be really pulled into this rather authentic skull duggery East India cloak and dagger drama set in the 18th century with the theme of business as usual, go and kill the natives, make them slaves and whilst you’re at it, take all their possessions, which was one of the first legal drafts from The Admiralty Law; that said sails up, go conquer, plunder, take, plant your flag and bring back to your homelands, booty for the King! And so it was….

The most beautiful man I stalked this month, Tom Hardy on Taboo…brilliant skull duggery BBC

Then if that wasn’t enough to keep me interested I had the most good fortune to be asked to be a study on how Twin sisters daughters pan out, within the Ayurvedic charts with Astrologer Sonal and my twin cousin Lucille Glenn, at The Theosophical Society, No 50 Gloucester Place, W1 and hear the most illuminating lecture on how my father and mother played out with my life, and many of you who know me, know that childhood was beseeched with bad luck in regards to parenting. However our most illustrious Vedic astrologer beautifully interpreted who and how we were in this most fabulous setting where Madame Blavatsky and her community lived, and orderly opened up the questions of enlightenment in the 19th century of which I became very fascinated and began studying that society with other very interesting people like Rudolf Steiner, Alice Bailey, Krisna merti and having the good fortune to read Vera Stanley Alder and Finding of the Third Eye, The Initiation of The World and The Fifth Dimension, all written in the mid 20th century. . I buzzed off on Sonal’s interpretation , the astrologers recounting of life with Manners/Paget and how my charts are blessed, though I do have Scorpio rising in this ancient eastern philosophy….yet much to be grateful – I purred a lot in this reading. And realised I can do anything should I put my mind to and of which I have done a fair bit.

Where to begin? I suppose at the beginning…Back before Christmas I saw a feed that had a strange looking energy around it, It was The Dark Mountain Project, and I read some of the folk myth stories from it, and I was attracted to it, intuitively, I knew something different was being forecasted, discussed, placed in the world in a form, shape and frequency that almost matched my own way of thinking…I liked and sent the project off to other people as friends on Facebook, who I thought would be interested. I then forgot all about that and got on with the holidays as one does. In the New Year, I thought I’d start this blog, no matter how it would look, feel, be, and opened up myself to getting behind the scenes of learning about WordPress and the bones it would be to make a small place for me to off let, outlet and blood let my deepest feelings coming up, which also ran along my creative writing course at City Lit. I just knew that for me to take the right foot forward I would have to expose myself in a proper way, even though some of the stories coming out of me would be difficult. I then noticed another story on Dark Mountain, by now I had placed this group as a follow on Girls from The Green Stuff, and I thought I should go and look at them again, I noticed they were doing an event, so I naturally opened up the field of consciousness to finding it was an event questioning the system in Schumacher College in Devon part of the Dartington Hall deep green ecology network & world. My intuition buzzed and I looked with keen interest at Schumacher, this was the place that Satish Kumar made his physical dream come to reality back in the early 90’s. I booked there and then, and put it tidily to bed till the event last week.

Then I met Satish kumar – the conceptualiser of Resurgence & Ecologist & Schumacher college on Wednesday 23rd March at Dartington Hall in Space as we listened to Paul and Dougald discuss the inbetween space of humanity and ecology that is much at the forefront of any decent enquiring mind where the world is filled with despots running their corrupt corporate mandates for slave debt money debt society.  Satish held me captivated, intrigued and some one I aspired to be from a very long time with his very sincere, open-minded, willingness to explore the creation of life on earth and how we humanity, regard our place in the universe with Mother Earth, our provider, nurturer, life give.

We are all excitable children here in the time we come to earth and in our journeying were are explorers, and are grown up to wonder at the world, I was very fortunate to know how to ride a pony, milk a cow, egg hunt, play in the barns, rivers, woods and use my imagination to feel a wanna be lineage to the innate glory of all things organic, seasonal, habited, blessed, animate, inanimate, educational, practising and profound. Satish started Resurgence & Ecologist in 1966 and his whole wellness comes from a very sound perception that we are all interconnected emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically bound by earth, sun, moon, universe, elemental, diversity, poetry, eating organically, locally, growing, planting, grounding, seeking to keep self-improvement and mastering ones own destiny accordingly to ones own paradox! I learnt to fly again this week in Schumacher with a group of highly evolved spiritual beings and felt utterly grateful for my wonderful higher self to align me with The Dark Mountain Project online and put my money where my mouth was. I utterly couldn’t make up the joyousness of mulching, fertile, learning life-styling……

I was also propelled into a world of deep unseated thinking in a wild habitat filled with volunteers, and other courses…courses that were almost designed for me alone and the world I wished to investigate. I am so fiercely fed up with the diatribe language of world-work to live and that everything is costed, commodities, profiteers and that there is much more in the world than that. I simply had arrived in my spiritual physical home, Schumacher.

From the minute I met Zach from Toronto asking at Totnes in the rain to go to Schumacher and then another lovely girl also sprung forward, we were on our way. Things were looking and feeling already unusually easy. The cab itself was cheap and my happiness at going to this retreat was buzzy. In fact I did not stop buzzing. In the hall entrance way at Schumacher I met Peter Reason, author of In Search of Grace, Anna, sculptress/artist, and bit by bit, the group unfolded over a good organic, local seasonal lunch as we landed. A large group of 25 and very nice homely vibes abound all of us. After lunch and a settling in, we had our first discourse with Paul Kingsnorth and Dougald Hine which was very inspiring. We also went out into the woods to finish up the introductions to each other. I coupled up with a scientist, and had sat next to a lovely woman from Missouri with a fab southern accent. Deirdre. Day one was over, not before I re-met Todd Hanson, artist who knew the same people as me, and such a lovely he turned out to be. In fact, I had a bit of a crush that unfolded like a silly teenager; this place just allowed all this stuff to un-pour out of one, in a girlish and open-minded manner.

Meeting creator of Resurgence &  Ecologist at Dartington Hall, Devon…Oh MY!

The very interesting Resurgence & Ecologist latest edition*

I love and listen eagerly to Resonance FM, adverts, public community, arts, musical, unusual, different, educational, in fact I will get something on this Radio Station…Brilliant

A truly highlighting moment for me at a lecture with Colin Campbell in the library at Dartington Hall discussing the Watery aspects of life and depression in society and how we are not permitted to accept and dive into our who we are. He went to university in the west, and got sick off the food, and western medicine could not help, so it was his tribal lands and relationship that brought harmony and wellness back to his soul. Colin Campbell’s upbringing in Botswana, the son of a renowned anthropologist and a creative healing mother. His grandmother was a famous healer, whom people voyaged to see from far afield.  On formative childhood travels with his father he slept under stars, learned from traditional San people and ways of the desert, awoke beside lion paw prints, and regularly fished cobras out of his bedroom draw. Through the time of his upbringing he acquired a deep knowledge of Tswana culture and its traditional medicinal and spiritual practices. His talk fascinated me on the vernacular of Water of that comes from the middling years of life proceeding the fiery early years of a mixed up and down of being, and the impulses of sexual creativity years, look at me, here I am to a more open and wide atmosphere in growing up  into a where the water allows humility to really come through,  and self acceptance. His voice melodically sang as he took us on a close and personal quest that was touching and quite beautiful, eloquently sharing a transmutational pull of sentience as again, my frequencies hummed harmonically to his discourse. Colin Campbell allowed me to really remember a more solid understanding of the world we live in and how we have forgotten our tribal indigenous inter-relationships, interdependency and elders to children communities, all mixed with the natural cycles of life-giving seasonality, earth, wood, minerals and all things life affirming which are most assuredly lost in the urban city.


Paul Kingsnorth & Dougald Hine at Dartington Hall, Devon discussing the world between fixed political gerrymandering and what if another conversation could really begin that wasn’t money based only

Though I did go and look more in to Dark Mountain and noticed a very good part of their thinking and feeling strategies are based around The Commoners, and what it used to be such an integral part of all human families, in their tribal communities and generations. When man became displaced with his ancestral lands, traditions, culture, family, things began to really go in a different direction.  If you had no family to look after you no matter what in your own home, with a fire at the centre of the house, life was tough and to work for the means to live was the worst thing a man, or woman could happen upon her. The work ethic was unheard of throughout mans growing up in communities, yes, a man and a woman knew how to forage, make, skill ship through their families traditions, but to work without a family to return home to, with not a hearth and oven to bake bread and break it, drink local hops, mead and such was considered shameful. The commercial man really started to eerily transit in his adventures abroad, and warring. Man began to forget his heart was home and local and family oriented. The common life began to change from about the 15th C to The Enclosure Acts of the mid 18th century, as the Industrious pompous and greedy man began to corral and creep into the once open common lands that were essential to all beings freely foraging and walking about the communities of village and town life. The common man began to falter and lose step with the complex and fertile essence and potency that generations of man, woman, child, beast, field, river, stream, copse, forest, ancient crop rotations, seasonal feasting and fallow, folk stories, myth stories told by singing, by weaving, and by creating and not on paper, not in law, not in some stupid rich mans world where parochial was considered foul play by the now seeker of profit before planet.  Local cottage industries all had a place and a need that had no written condemnation and that the community was complexed and very much attuned down the line of common lore and common values.  When man began to use the law and his mental intelligence, he pushed hard against land use and began herding, enslaving, enforcing, making laws, acting upon them laws and we, the people  began to separate from nature. Science played it’s part too, with the church to point at herbal lore, healing modalities, walking paths as it accelerated in full force from the 17th century.  Dougald Hine’s message really struck a chord with me as I grew up on a farm called The Common Farm. And I recognise that creativity is more encouraging to my health and wellbeing, than automation and repetitive teaching.

To finish off my Mad March Month Blog, the next highlight of the Schumacher experience was the Deep Time Walk with Stefan Harding, see below. I couldn’t get enough and all children, and adults should attend. I made field recordings, and I am going to edit a little sound cloud of it. I learnt about life on earth in a two-hour walk on the Jurassic coast line. I now understand how time is irrelevant in the great scheme of things and that harmony, upwelling to the sun and planets are all vibrational and that mother earth, Gaia, loves us, so much. That’s how we stay grounded!

We are all part of a deep green ecological diverse world and on my walk with Professor Stefan Harding from Schumacher, we walked the Deep Time till we became bacteria, and in that bacteria we became men. We are all required to become better husbands to mother nature and co-create as individuals a beautiful outlook of high gods and goddesses that resonate higher powering up frequencies through choosing ethically, switching off the telly, tuning in to mindfulness and meditation, listening to the birds, and being grateful for being here right now in this time.

The most entertaining walk ever on Deep Time Earth and how it evolved over billions of years to become the most incredible balances plant, animal, natural, inanimate, elemental, watery emotionally, spiritual life giving planet in this orbit

Fungi fungi drawing all the sunlight from the tree top canopies to feed photosynthesis down into the undergrowth for all life,feeding carbon and breathing out oxygen…beautiful with Stefan Harding, very stimulating walk and talk from Schumacher

Inside the jockey tent with my cousin Lucille and some Irish……My Beautiful talented and kind brother Lester and new friend Jo.


And finally, I got to spend the last weekend in March with my brother Lester James ‘Piggot’ Manners and Lucille Josephine Glen. We rocked the racing, Abba night, and The ancient White Horse Hill, though we were very tired by Sunday.

I found Resonance FM, 104.4. Are doing Space time holographic T-Shirts for Aphex Twin world tour…connected with my dear family in the beautiful countryside, met some awesome people world-wide, fell in love with fun, fungi and funny moments that are deeply imprinted in my life forever. I even got a photo of Aunty Binks, see below at Siddington Point to Point. I nearly cried when I saw her after all – she did bring me up!


A racing man, Me, Aunty Binks and brother Lester James at Siddington Point to Point…

We hugged, and we laughed and all was forgotten that had pained me and pushed me into a place of separation. To enjoy the fruits of my family members, really makes me cry with joy.

I thank all that have come on this month of marching of which that have been masses – racism, NHS, Anti-Trumpism, and Anti-Brexit…I have not seen London like this for quite some time. The world is turning upside down as the people and planet now are shifting into chaos of which is a good thing.

Another March, marching in London…I think it was a record three or four this month, this year, 2017


One of the many Mad Marching Month of March in London 2017

Thank you Mad Marching Hares…Thank you

Shuumacher is …

Bright bold light day spring

Simply divine….

Here’s my poem:

Great basket islands

Skelleg to here west coasting

McKilleycuddy reegs The Burren County Clare Dawn chorus Ravens stay together for life and are all individuals Insects thrive from insecticides Clew Bay Connemara Co Kerry – cricket newt frog toad

Pert Babuki- the song of the faeriesHump back whales Dolphins Grey seals

Cessation of whaling Ireland is a safe haven

Maybe just maybe It’s watery it’s emotional deepening that allows a letting go falling down, falling away dropping downing into the intracellular memory foam beds that support the breakdown and move away gloriously ousting mouldy oldy paradigms that was all vertical and critical, outgoing hard cruel, separate defined

Feverish fighting pushing upwards bigger better look at me look at what I can do you see me

And so this young adult trembles in those experimentional platitudes on showy shows always in the know-how’s

Now depression lost unknown what am I who am I what do I do

Breaking into the middling years men-o-pausal- blood to soil to fertility to watery now the ending of into the widening familiarity that feels deeply isolated one step from the hand of time that pushes you under into the ocean and bedrocks rock bottom ravished and ravishing

Let go child woman crone let go

19 dear girl We will never let you down as you let go

You are held by Earth mother tenderly reclaiming interdependence indisputably

I had to get out of my way

My hormones driving me along every day every night up in out in out shag shag shag

Now I’m glad that games up and I m outside inside looking in gathering up my creativity urges to upwell in out through me

Rarer and rarer in the world now

Riding into your destiny

Holographic multidimensional intergration 

Look … we are all there…

Looking through the lens of a space and time 

Meeting new people & marvelling at who is who and how are you..running into the arms of my dearest old friends, collaborators till the very end

Alive and very happening…circulating, cheering on good willingness, interested in the art of detachment and light heartedness – fire in the grate, pictures on the wall, chatty chats to be had with pretty much all!

Where have all the Birds gone…

The Dawn chorus is such an intrinsic part of my growing up and probably one of the most comforting aspects of living in the world period. It represents without any sense of time fixed, an unfolding…

Source: Where have birds  gone…

Where have all the Birds gone…

The Dawn chorus is such an intrinsic part of my growing up and probably one of the most comforting aspects of living in the world period.  The  celestial skies spilling fourth with a vibrant humming, a swooping and dancing show as they go about their own business, building nests, searching for food, roosting and filling the world up with chatter, song and good energy. I am grateful they are there in chorus and view…however there has been a massive drop in numbers..Why is this…img_1298


Feel free to click on to this whilst reading my latest blog on behalf of all Ornithology as the Dawn Chorus in the British Countryside performs.

As a nature lover who grew up on a farm yet learnt my crafts in the city, which led me to an enquiring  mind covering the social, environmental and economy aspects as I try to find my place here on earth whilst asking  who I am,  what is my purpose, and what an amazing spiritual journey this life is as I experience potentiality in a physical dimension. However  it really hit home when my daughter Baby Metta-Angel was born in 2002 and I noticed that there was no morning song from the birds outside, and yet all looked normal with a full planted garden with trees, flowers, grass laid outside my bedroom.  I felt a chill run down my back as I nursed my baby and questioned what is going on?

Every Saturday afternoon when I get back from market , I tune in to the Gardening Programme on Radio 4, and always the main issues with fertility in soils, gardens and pests, a point of view always come in when the expert remarks on the loss of habitats for pest controllers, of which are birds, then swiftly talks of bird decline, and then the over use of intensive chemicals on farming systems in the UK. Gardens are now considered to be ‘The Front Line’ habitats for the health and wellbeing of our great traditional intrigue, adoration and love of these sentient creatures as we make sure that there is food in their feeding trays and boxes with plenty of water.

Living in central London I am of course aware there is a lot of people, traffic, offices, with less parks. I am fortunate to live with a private garden outside our window, of which the clever Fox and her family have lived in as long as I’ve been here and every late winter, we all get to hear their family getting ready for their cubs to be born. They are charming, noisy and a regular part of life here.  Even last week as I listened to  our poetry greats on Radio 4 discussing writer Rosemary Tonks(  who became a recluse after much success as a published writer/poet, she retreated to Dorset finding her own spiritual path to God, and gave up on giving interviews, however a journalist visiting before her death, remarked that she would rush out to her garden as greeting dear old friends from afar visiting, calling out Darling Darling, your’e back, so lovely to see you, only though they were birds, harbingers, messengers and angels from God, who would come with news comforting, admonishing or warning Rosemary. She honestly felt they were divine messengers as did my father also. He too laid bare the orchard and vegetable patch for two reasons – laziness and that they were feeding paradises for incoming birds from their stretches on migrational charts. Growing up on the farm was indeed no easy matter when living in the house with Aunty Binks and co..none the less, the experience of living on a farm in the 70’s drew upon my natural instinctive joy of living amongst animals, birds, insects, creepy crawlies, and the blessed elements of seasons, summers, winters, spring and autumn.

We had a river running through the most spectacular water meadows; that water meadow was a site of specific interest (SSSI) as were the lower common, bushy field, and a few others dotted in that well  preserved land. That land had never been ploughed up, so it was filled with rare flora and fauna, hundreds of different grasses, vetches, clover, seeds and saplings alike which only had thoroughbred horses and cows grazing contentedly on the land. The Water meadows would flood without fail seasonally washing nutrients over that soil that was gold.  This is everything that is right with the world. One that nature and God, are together in a place, a paradise, a heaven that is inter-woven in a settled and useful earth and yet when I wake up to listen eagerly to the dawn chorus, it has gone. It is a whisper. Even Nigel who runs a successful Lovages and Herbs stall at Nottinghill Gate Farmers Market and Islington selling the most delicious organic seasonal foodstuffs he grows and plants. He admitted that his spot in the countryside outside in the satellite county bordering Hertfordshire/Cambridgeshire a noticeable lack of the usual birds ringing, singing and expressing their love of living in our physical dimension.



Thirty/forty years ago the countryside was flourishing with the dawn chorus.

Today we have a problem and as a practicing environmentalist, I sit here trying to raise awareness, and write out my own relationship in the lessening of bird life trying to make head or tale sense.

In 1947 – this year is significant, not only was  David Bowie …my higher power…was born, it was a year under rations that would last till 1954. Britain froze this snow filled winter and after the War effort, something new was coming in… an insurgence of new systems that would revolutionise and stabilise the way we view food, farming and our relationship with it was being paved by the battle cries of the new media, and the bellowing call of increasing the yields in the fields which would be paid for by the British people in a  new subsidy system. It was devised by The Ministry of Food and Fisheries, aka, MAFF, now DEFRA and with the help of our largest chemical company, ICI. CEO Sir Malcolm Gavin and Government came together to devise a way that would increase profits, yields and crucially gain control. It was known as The Agricultural Act and it came in in 1947. It made men rich, gave assurances to Farmers that they would never suffer again so long as they signed up to this subsidy system and of course, it meant that every acreage had a price upon its head.

Frederick James Marquis who became Viscount 1st Earl of Woolton for his services in War time Britain who oversaw the rationing of food who coined the belief in “the establishment, under private enterprise, of partnership in industry, whereby all ranks engaged in it shall … share in the increased yield that comes from greater effort or increased skill”

1st Earl of Woolton 1947

Yes the climate after the Second World War was tempered and our national debt was humongous with the worse winter on record, floods in Spring and the hottest summer in 300 years. Rationing extended to bread for the first time, milk allowance reduced, the coal industry was nationalised, with a first atomic reactor opened at Harwell, Oxfordshire, We handed India back, a jewel in our crown, with a baby boom in full swing and the US Marshall Plan was under construction to bring down the curtain and non-essential motor driving was outlawed to save on fuel. However as all said and done, the British people had survived the war and in pretty good health. Every urban garden along with Anderson shelters,  had chickens, pigs vegetables, fruit trees, an aptitude for foraging blackberries, cherries, seasonally gluts, bounties for free, in the trees, hedges, woods, parks , lanes and a good idea how to cook up a storm whilst the war was raging. Britons became truly authentic is standing up for each other, in a sharing  and caring society  to help all, not a few.  The WI (Womens Institute) also put out recipes, and  helped enormously bridging all classes, all sexes and creeds together to keep us well fed, turned out and jolly as all generations helped with the war effort to sustain and nourish the population. It is often said, that the people were healthier than ever before, as sugar, and white grains were hard to find, meaning everything was cooked from scratch, grown locally and without the use of pesticides, and fertilisers.



Then around the late 70’s something happened. Each year The Cuckoo  would come to grace our ears with that wonderful May sound heralding spring has sprung. I too would love to hear my father and my own self, recount how birds were very important indicators of how healthy our land was. Then it began to falter.  Comments of the swallows are not here, and whilst the Blackbird always delivered, the multitude and dawn chorus became less and less.


As industry, commerce, profit and the rise of a different world entered all our psyche, the relentless ploughing up of ancient furrow fares, fields and meadows began to shape out a very different landscape to the once small, manageable and densely covered edges of the fields with hedges, woods, copses, and so on. The carving up of the countryside acutely and chronically decimated the look, feel, taste, hear and touch of all that we are. Run off from chemicals drenched and seeped into the underground water tables, wells & water-ways, polluting river beds with heavy industrial cocktails, and into  the channels leading out to the sea.  It didn’t take long to notice that things were not right with nature, its richness and varieties began to suffer and in that, a shadow was falling across the land as trees fell, and the balance required for all life, started to wobble horribly.

In 1977 myxomatosis spread across the countryside that wiped out indigenous hares, rabbits and domestic pets if they were outside in runs. It starts with runny eyes and in the very early stages can be confused with other causes of conjunctivitis. However, myxomatosis differs as the genitals are also swollen. It rapidly progresses to a severe conjunctivitis which causes blindness and is accompanied by lumpy (nodular) swellings on the head, plus lumps on the body. Excessive amounts of thick pus discharges from the nose and swollen eyes (which are often sealed shut). There are also two atypical forms of myxomatosis: one causes pneumonia and a snuffles-like illness; the other (“Nodular myxomatosis”) mainly affects skin and carries a better prognosis. hit our countryside with hares drugged and maimed all over the roads and tracks. As a youngster, it was a devastated attack on wildlife that was man-made and in 2000 another attack arose, it was hushed up, and rabbit pets were advised to be vaccinated.

The once rich fertile soils needed for excellent rude health was becoming desert-like needing more and more intensive chemicals to keep crops performing.  From the extensive chalk lands, to the highlands, hardly any where was left untouched, unless some do-gooder, walker, ecologist, bird watcher happened to raise up the flags for biodiversity bravely pronounced it a duty to save some of the once diverse and rich countryside.

Today we have lost up to 89% of our indigenous wildlife, grasslands, uplands, soil fertility, orchards, and all parts of a once vibrant and sort after green England. Our ideology of what we considered Natures Basket was eroded in principles that broke not only our connection to seasons, but also we began to lose our soul to our own downward spiralling of lower health and wellbeing that shapes all of us. We have gotten lazy and over reliant on cheapened foodstuffs, filled with additives, laced in colourants, salts, preservatives and things that we can now leave on the shelf for months and years. In a nut we have all got used to low-grade, mass intense, imported, freeze-dried, frozen, canned, packaged foods whilst small holders, producers, growers have shrunk disproportionately and large landowners tied to the shareholders, Hedge funders, derivatives and so on have meant that we are now in a perilous state in how we tackle not only the disastrous impact it has created to wildlife and its soils, but to our own health.

We rely on Big Pharma & Big Farmer – both subsidised to the hilt. My ex bf, Caleb Cox aka Instinctive Expression, wrote this and I think it sums up how we are now more tied in to a massive scandalous system that does not wish to help you get better, but to keep you drugged up on poor food, poor medicine and poor information.


.Audio Player


Audio Player

the-fat-of-the-land-john-seymour A BBC journalist who changed his life by living learning self sufficient small holding, providing food for his family and then raising awareness to the benefits of locally grown produce. The Good life![/caption]Today when we walk out into the countryside, take a train, picnic, car, we imagine a countryside filled with birds, insects, plants, clean and bountiful, and yet what really we see are set asides, fragmented islands left for us to tally and remember tokens of yesteryear,  yet if you really look closely, there are no birds, insects buzzing, no sound to be heard, just a dull, empty less than void of a smattering of once rich filled sounds. Now at most a desert that is covered annually in mass intensive chemicals still paid for by you and me, is what we have. Most Farmers are now Business men providing industrial generic crops of mainly wheat, that is so poorly lacking in nutrition, and yet is in most goods in the super markets, the British people and western diet is grossly dished out in repetitive Ads, that we have become addicted to the chemicals. When the Chorley Woodexperiment was rolled out in the late 50’s, it was a boon for big biz as it demonstrated the fast yeast activation process was now a thing to celebrate as loaves were sliced, and packaged fast, intensely and cheaply. However this bread is everything that is wrong with human health, ingestion, digestion and glue. It has taken just under 60 years for individuals to feel the wrath of bad bread that gets stuck in the gut causing huge problems for the body to eliminate such levels of blandness.

Over three-quarters of children do not understand where their food comes from. In times before, children up and down the country would know where to go for foraging foods to gorge upon whilst out playing all day in all-weather, no matter what. That was our growing up. That has changed too. . Today we bow down to celebs and money people, saturated in glossy high-profile status’, pulped dry and highly contagious in digital online mags, as they run around singing songs they didn’t write, parading fashion they were styled in whilst being good little citizens for  model behaviours in every which way they turn, we follow. It’s all about the look, feel and sale of consumptive packaging right throughout every single step of our lives. And yet underpinning all that is, is this very telling psychology that is  a big fat poverty consciousness and fear mongering daily fed by main stream, it’s no wonder we are so conflicted.

What we humans are now witnessing is not only the mass demise of the natural kingdoms, but the loss of our own vibrancy, potency and potential to keep upwardly inclined in all our habits, in order to live a full and rich life. It is as though a strange money man walks the earth , prices the habitats, sends in pirates of sorts to mark out territories and then either does one or two things, make a war, or and , loan monies to leaders to give them aid for schools, hospitals, manufacturing plants, etc etc, sell them our supposed wonderful lifestyles, expose them to our money management systems, bankers, clerks, accountants, lawyers, skull duggery and on it goes, keep the relentless march of money men and their machines to rip our the lungs of forests. I refer to these groups of business hierarchy as:The Codex.

It is time to switch off the lifeline of business as usual echo, and prepare  to slow down, become part of a slow movement which takes gulp-fuls of fresh clean air, drinks from the fountain ever abundant, and reflects as to who we are, and what we do. If we do not halt this continuous trajectory, there will be no elephants, bears, tigers, rhino, forests, grasslands, uplands, chalk lands, bumble bees, butterflies, and all the wonderful dawn chorus’s that have been so much apart of our own heritage since man became conscious, as David Attenborough now speaks in volumes, the kingdoms will pass through corridors of wildlife, as land is turned over to huge industrial farms feeding industrial cows, and animals as we eat off the diets that dumb us all down, a diet filled with sickness and disease, a run away market ever wanting more and more, with a sort of trance like behaviour becoming the norm.

Its time to stand up, look around your room, and ask yourself, are you healthy, happy, creative, imaginative, inspired? Then observe that which arises and make small steps towards changing how  you are in your environment, in your work and home.

Health shouldn’t just be about stuffing drugs into a sick person, putting food into a microwave oven,  and chiming we never had it so good, but rather we remember that we are all one, with immense feelings, and capacity to make changes just by self realising we all have the power to switch to a more fair and ethical way of living.

Today more than ever, for man to really flourish, his goals should reflect a sense of duty to all humanity and all ecology, not just the same fixed quotas poured on mass industrialists from mass media that keeps up the same mass drone of self-importance in how much you earn, what you do, and what becomes of your life in measuring success.

We are all addicts to the same brain washing that causes us to gorge on pizza’s, pasta’s, animals, sugars, fats, salts, chemicals, on systems that keep on advertising the importance of these products and services that become obsolete as soon as they break or a new fad gadget, system comes into play. If you see, and hear enough, Justification plays on one’s consciousness.

We are driving ourselves to early graves by our self-importance, ignorance and sloth as we  keep up with the jones’s. Meanwhile we are losing the flowers required to feed the bees, birds, insects that pollinate our  trees, fields, meadows, wild uplands, low lands, our love of being in nature, is continuously under the watchful stocks and shares of a few men that we hand all our power over to, because we are all ourselves creatures of habit and as we become less able to realise that we are all a-part of nature and yet we are falling a-part of nature in our collective choices in the relentless need for supremacy in how we conduct and cause harm in our social, environmental patterning. It is as though we have forgotten to feel how good it is to eat mindfully, engage in how our food is grown, stop purchasing mass subsidised, grossly negligent inferior foodstuffs because we somehow have all been brain fogged into illusionary benefits of buying cheap

It is time to stop buying into adverts, authorities, grim reapers, Big Pharma, Big Farming, Big polluting industries, Big Banks, Big this and Big That, for we know honestly that when we lost the Big Trees, and Big Forests and Big Animals and Big Sea Creatures, We ourselves jeopardise our future generations, is it really worth it?

When Yes means No – a cautionary tale growing up


I grew up in filth talk and a filthy environment on the farm. 

My Questioning nature was always: May I, Can I, please?

No No No was the answer No

So I grew up saying YES when I left home. I became a Yes girl.

Why and how did this happening?

My story was as unique and hard as all adults who eventually start waking up from breaking down, breaking up & breaking thru to how they got to be who & why they are. 

I began the arduous task of tracing my steps backwards to the Yes Yes Yes voice that was my programmed condition confused little paradox person sashaying mechanically like a sheet of choral church music being played with a puppeteer baton waving wickedly. My whole early years rang a discordant and thorough No. My childhood suppressed, augmented as the pendulum swung side to side erratically, but never calmly in the steadying hand of a gentle parent . 

The frustration of not being allowed to learn piano, go on the French exchange, go to school discos (bar one when I was 15) and get to have the basic building blocks that are considered normal. My bedroom was frozen, no heat, no hot water bottle due to the expense of electricity being used to boil the kettle. Somehow my father chose a keeper to keep him, not us. She, Aunty Binks had her own two children, who she naturally devoted her time. With us, we were an add on and not to be cherished, held, nurtured or loved. Aunty Binks swooped in to our nest just as would a clever spring cuckoo. She chose to do the least work possible in regards to us. We were fed well enough, I as a very needy little girl, would peel the potatoes, wash lettuce, chop onions, I assisted everywhere I could get a kindly word. Her house work was atrocious, and she made sure that she was way too good to change our bedding, wash our clothes and be a warm motherly beacon to go to when childhood was just a difficult place to be in. Our own mother had gone, and was openly chatisted as the evil/sinner character. However Jaqueline neePaget,  had  kept the hearth clean, and liked her children to sleep in clean sheets, pants, socks, basic needs met that gave one a natural orderly sense of care, structure, a parental feeling of love, that all disapated quickly once Aunty Binks became the matriarch in the role she played. By the age of 8/9 I had learnt how to use a washing machine. I cooked poach eggs and scrub floors, Hoover, chop fire wood and light fires. I became increasingly a fixer of all the things I thought how a good mother would be. This would become my markmamship in all the years to follow. It meant I didn’t get to become an actor, musician, politician or even farmers wife. I simply was left up to my own devices and no one asked me how did it feel to be me. Even getting thank You’s was rare. I was so desperate for feedback – I was a good little helper girl. Instead NO was a constant tool for any thing I asked. Rarely yes was an answer. My father reinforced the No’s by running away onto the farm, on his horse, in the land rover to escape his questioning children. He simply was not up to the task of standing up for his own flesh and blood, his was weak. 

 He simply was in denial and if confronted by any of his children, he would throw a tantrum or run away. In His own childhood; his mother, my grandmother worshipped him. Spoilt him. Indulged him. He went to Dauntsey public school in 1934, aged 8. His head was ducked down a toilet whilst his genitalia were fiddled with – all as a natural traditional standing with the upper classes. He hated it. Boarding school back in those days was cruel and very tough. It however meant his own parenting was somewhat fractured. He always said if the pill had been around a year earlier I wouldn’t be here…

It was a negligent and very difficult time that traumatically filled up my every symptomatic particle physically , emotionally, mentally and spiritually into a very tender discourse that crippled all of us, as we had to navigate upon a myriad of uncertainty and when a nice word was spoken, it meant the world and I began to become addicted to love & kindness. 

Other wise, I was frozen out into a cold hearted environment. Everything was less than. All my basic needs were met with a very peculiar Mindset bordering on cruelty and exclusion. To feel every question asked was to be met with a big fat NO, don’t be ridiculous, money doesn’t grow on trees, was how Aunty Binks spoke and she never faulted with her consistent trajectory of minimal cold  sentences. Tight, thin lipped, hard slitty eyes, she was an archetypal step mother to be and yet to see her with her own daughter who marched around in clean socks, jodhpurs, who had all the kit &caboodle  paraphernalia really ought to have crushed any decency in my little self. I just couldn’t understand the unfairness of all this. How come we, the children of the charismatic trainer, breeder, owner farmer HJ. Manners esquire, be treated like second hand parts from a bad bit play?

Out clothes were hand me downs, our birthdays a joke, in fact apart from a very sadistic dentistry time of Aunty Binks insisting I had many of my teeth pulled which changed my lovely upper Dracula teeth which gave me a Aunty Josie smile. No monies, time, special treats were given to us. I grew up intensely wishing for something outside of myself to take the severe & acute depths of despair away somewhere like a Disney film. I was a modern day Cinderella, filled with wishful fantasies, feelings and thinking that would lead me to a thrashing obscurity of sexual playfulness, attention seeking and unhealthy fantasies. 

My own act of survival to feel that contact touch and feedback looping was essential to my inner heart to connect, feel more than, loved, orgasmic. We were rampant back massagers – that being my brothers , dad & sister – again depending who was around. It was our way of feeling connected to each other. We would time each other on the video. I became an expert hair comber scratching up dads dandruff in order to be close to him. He had a lot to scratch as he didn’t wash his hair in 50 years, afraid of water. He would snooze off and agree to much, only for his yes’ s to turn to whimpering No’s later on. 

I would seek out human kindness from everyone & everything to know what normal was. My father made mistakes. He hid behind his guilt & shame with his lover, Audrey and he did it throughout his life repeatedly saying the same insane thing. He worshipped her like a saint, yet it was programming that went around in a cyclical loop and somehow  his words if he said it enough, would then be truth, absolute truth, no matter what. He would lose his temper very easily like a child caught in the headlights,  as he crashed wailing behind his beloved Audrey. He after all, had the upper hand. He was the boss. He owned the land, the farm. It meant he had value and we were too high a cost. 

I was always reminded of that and his other accusations: You nearly lost me the farm. I felt unsafe, out of balance, bottom of the heap, I wasn’t being groomed as a first born daughter looking forward to a grand and pleasant life, but thrown to the wolves, out out out. 

I struggled already at school with bullies and teachers not really knowing where to place me. I always tried to be the best at everything, shine and for someone to notice. However because of my lowly status in terms of look and style, I was an unkempt, scruffy, an outsider from the outset and all I knew being on the farm was that I cleaned, scrubbed, dusted, washed, swept, tidied up obsessively trying to sweep away the dirty, hidden back stories, filed away by social services, courts, Dr. Garside who had me checked out at just over 2&a half. The disorderly framework that supplanted my inside was hush hushed other than the occasional expunged narrative that my father would try to make sense head over heel of his predatory and rash apologies seeking his own daughters forgiveness in times of lucidity. However he kept closing down his part he played in denying his fingers only went in me to ‘calm me down from crying for my mothers breast’ In a nut my father made up a story, then got caught, then felt awful, uncomfortable & rather he explain the sordidness and for that matter, the injustice he transferred for the rest of my life, as he hid behind his game of hide & seek, shame & guilt, and gave all it up to his wife to be. I then became the symbol of forever being nothing more than a second rate bit part actress in a very second rate soap. It was no surprise I was desperate for clean, orderly, kind, open minded and sincere work – home and away – but myself and siblings were distinctly marked out for Aunty Binks scorn and no’s. She had been given the keys to my fathers kingdom of dark secrets and she therefore held the power. Her own flesh and blood became us. 

I wasn’t allowed any reprise or a daughters  protection- after all – I had become the reason for all my fathers troubles.My childhood was a tick tick of repetition as dad, John Manners, would hide when I went to look for him as another attack from Aunty Binks as she would put me down again and again, not caring whatsoever. He knew how to avoid the fallout, the begging plea as I would try all my wilfulness to ask for basic things. As the drums banged no no no, smoke rings of tears filled up my eyes with shoots ups and children fleeing from their tepees on black n whites screens  marginalised by bullies, cowboys, soldiers and the red indians dying determined to keep their lands. An ongoingness always leaving me exposed, vulnerable and distraught. I was thrown off the horse,  contorted between flight, fight and freeze. My poor adrenals were saturated and exhausted plainly wishing for decency, human kindness and to stop the permanent voice of NO. 

I was split into. Becoming lost and inside my own world. Two things helped. My love of music and my love of nature. As I spent every evening washing up, drying, wiping down, sweeping and washing the kitchen floor; I listened to Radio Luxembourg. Of course we all watched Top of the Pops. I fell in love with two tone, New Romantics, new Wave, Beatles, Radio one and soaked up records, sounds, tunes from everywhere, anyone I could get my hands on. I sang, dreamt, daydreamed of musicians, artists, as potent armours. I loved All things that hummed melodies, allowed my heart to sing and the combo of the natural kingdoms that came with growing up on a farm. 

These two worldly omnipresents would keep me sane with industrious hard work cleaning in that 17th c Cotswold stone farm house. 

Then there was the other thing, that was different in calibre, dimensionally that beamed up like a shard crystalline power beam uprooting and installing sensuality, and other worldly-ness in my little body of 8. I was in the playground at Southfields Primary climbing a pole, when something happened. I imploded. I felt an upwelling energetically deeply forbidden and promiscuous in the form of somewhere, somehow an unknown entity yet I knew this feeling from before. How did I know? I self realised that my physical requirements in the climbing up of that pole would repeat the very same vibration of telling no one, never.  This was not a parlour  speakeasy chit chat . No not at all. This was way out, over the top, under the wire and held very damaging undertone with where did that come from? My very private, primordial unspoken bodily crumblings, became hooked on those pulsating magnetic electrolytes that warmed up my cocklehearts & insides deep in the bellows of beautifying, breaking down innate boundaries and breaking free from tyranny in the common farm house moulded in discombobulating mayhem from being disenfranchised from my mother & father. I knew  I liked what happened, so much so, I found my own spots on the farm buildings, in the old stables, pig sty. Anywhere where I could get a grip to lift up and release all that unspent misused grotesque hurtful tension. I spent increasingly more amounts of my time, climbing poles to stimulate surprisingly estactic chi rushes riding soulfully and gliding for wardship to my end gain  that allowed my mind to spit, throw, cry out those unspoken words, the answer backs, triggers and traumas held every time I was derided, cut, maimed and wounded as a little girl by the adulteress do gooders whose affair  would put me into a permanent recovery for the rest of my life from aggressive & mean put upons and all the felt afraidness to say stop! These orgasms became a multidimensional tonic to exorcising Aunty Binks, dad, mum, authoritity figures, grown ups & all the boys at school I fancied, all the horrid hurtful things that was dumped on me, as well as an antidote of dreams, desires, fantasy,  imaginary homes I lived in, for all my goals and grimaces, for all the under dogs, no bodies, poor and rich urchins alike, I would gyrate, ingest, drink in the uprising natural esoteric dance of the good, the bad and the ugly in order to feel a semblance of importance and inclusivity that shuddered and pushed fourth my expanded sails on a choppy unchartered territory . I used this compass to distill and tenderise my very dark, deep and unvoiced principles to shape ring and unfurl a deep connection of higher power ordering that just by that act, wholly or demigod godliness that imbued a meaning albeit for only transient moments. It was my saviour and my curse as it became cursory in my early years as I flowered up resonating like a blooded homeopathic template to return rich red rooted in proteins, plasma, bone, ligaments, organs, cells, and innocence from all the universal Languages that spur on the human race through heaving,  hormonal growth secretions and feelings & desires  that blew open official secrets to growing up. It meant I held on to some quite particular self expression that powered up my pushed down voice. It made sense because of the complexity and abnormal terrain and tyranny that was my daily bread. I was living in a tarantula nest, and as I was an antagonist to the cosying up of a played out drama that was fuelled by my father handing over his power to Aunty Binks, in order for both of them to get what they wanted – Dad -needed  someone to collude and assuage his dirty and dark tales whilst he had someone to bring his porridge daily, share his passions for the race horses, and she too would eventually get the prize – the sale of the farm from dads death and live out/off it with her brood ensconced in their quidpro terms and conditions . 

It sounds like I am jealous, still carrying bitterness, to a degree I am, however I was a loving child, I am a seeker of the truth and of a simple innate fair social justice and environmental system that has grown up in me, spawned from swimming against the tidal waves pushed back with damns and dykes to somehow make do out of the immense struggles to remain in harmony and in tune with the deep radar guiding me upwards to a potentially extraordinary life trajectory that now more than ever needs to come out like a purgatory to be cleaned fit for purpose as so to fit into the world. My biggest worry was I felt unable to know where to stand still and strong without falling apart especially because I needed so much validation. 

I didn’t know how to inwardly love, honour and work diligently towards self study and bettering myself with caring peers to ask how to do this or that, go to college, university, work. It simply wasn’t an option for me and so I led my life from hit & misses and that I was easily led by others suggesting this and that. It wasn’t always so bad, I realised later on that my guides and gods were really rooting for me. I quite simply was pushed out at 16. And that was that and from there got to find out, figure and unravel my identity in fits and staves. 

As I was rejected at a young age and abandoned by the family that would leave me exposed to becoming a victim of self loathing, poor me, self flagelating and critiquing. My interdependent language was full mooned and sun flared with a genuine willingness mixed with low line fearfulness and because of all those spiteful no’s,  I lacked a deep connection of entrusting who was I. I did however love being the centre of attention and I knew that some boys and girls got off on me. It gave me a purpose. Not wholly wholesome but a sort of trancelike zeal that came with a few glasses of alcohol and later weed &  nicotine that became my drug of choice. I began a thirty year story that was enhanced by not sitting still enough with who am I?

I lived intuitively always recognising when the drugs became too downy I would stop and break into mindfulness, learning, letting go leaps and faith with my inward tracking safeward bound light house. I had developed a strategy to help keep out severe impending danger.I also could sense who was horrible and who was not. But still I went into a codependent yes yes yes. That meant I was a high res people pleaser and seeker of approval. I could never say no to requests, to can I , do you mind, stay, sleep, have, share, with all my people, places and things. I was boundaryless. It meant I had to watch, feel and see my girl friends  lining up to catch my packed in lovers and bf’s breaking the unsaid customs and codes of conduct – highly important and practiced amongst true friends. However my girlfriends & boy friends alike were not always to be trusted; we were all a pretty insecure lot in our twenties and all experimenting. I was not quite assured enough to identify those really authentic honest types who really dug me, to others who quite happily sucked on my easygoing nature because I wore and still do, my heart on my sleeve. I was completely handicapped in defining whose who in a perpetually balancing  act of recognising healthy relationships. I simply realised that the more I said yes, the more people liked me, which perpetuated years of quickening to keeping up with the yes charade. My whole identity was thoroughly outwardly promiscuous and terribly confusing as I would cover up my shadowy insides by drowning in empty drinking binges, dressing up, partying hard, having a large  excitable personality that kept growing. I enjoyed attention seeking  but disturbingly I found those persons with odd enclosed natures equally marked for my self serving seeking approvaling defined  as twisted and undeniably odd in searching for  Aunty Binks in all types for self acceptance. I was in a nut, blocked traumatically frozen cold and crying in a dark place with a very uncared for wounded little girl Mia. I repeatedly went for similar familiar archetypes. I had to really hit some biggies to uncover the hypnotic speak & spell I was under before I could flush out these demonic, ghoulish entity creatures that depended on my dysfunctional, disoriented, denial patterns. I had to keep falling down triggering my repetitive behavioural traits that allowed a long list of perverts, bounders, scoundrels and weirdos that all got to come along  some invited, some not,  to my all free wild-wheeling world view parties,  quirk & sense of adventure playing out with no real voice to say really understand that word: NO. 

I wrote this poem on Sunday, from the freezing cold Sundaymarket with  resentment as my breakfast. I stand stronger today, older, wiser, a bit, and ready to keep pressing into the unknown aware  it’s a continual process that keeps me in a very transitional place. It’s a work in progress. My gift is awakening and returning to my little girl to reparent and grow us up healthy. 

I like saying No, as much as I like Yes. It’s scares me too as I am doing my best best best for myself so I can teach me how not too react and give my power away through carelessness

I’ve grown up in spite and of much dirty innuendo’s soaking ingraining inside my growing heart
I was conscious that smutty smuttiness was my daily bread

I don’t just want to survive
I want to thrive standing in my field of awareness and wonder

I’m changing and it’s tough recognising that my close friends and family still rather like me to bow down to their methods tricks plays , drama
In a dirty lower density field
I’m trying hard to raise my game
Speak plain Jane
Not feel afraid
When I say no I mean no
Not feel less than
Worried what the outcome
Boundaries with BNB yes done blocked out Monday Tuesday Weds

I’m growing towards inner well

and Thursday
Boundaries with guests coming to stay two days at the most
Boundaries with me me me
Boundaries with family

Recognising my self harm dialogue whilst marching regardless 
Mirroring vibrations matching their frequencies
Knowing when I’m tired fed up
When I intuitively feel my reaction in body is worried
To just align with my truth
Accept I feel aloof
And say no to yes
Shout it out to the top of the stairs to the bottom of where’s where
I simply no longer care
As I dwell happily inside my cave ”

This is the new yin year : Fire Rooster 

Wake up miss Manners

Keep walking on

Parties for purposes – connecting physically 

cropped-pfp2.jpgI am img_0503 my journey that is not governed by commercial interests, and making the world ecologically unsafe. We are living in an age where we have forgotten to cherish what is important. I am concerned that my daughter will grow up in a world without basic needs because of the continuous trajectory of the Global markets and the defunct economic system which does not take responsibility for the environment other than to keep slashing and burning and bombing and drilling, mining,etc which intern dehumanises us all.

I am currently reading a book called If Women Rose Rooted by Sharon Blackie, it is compelling and is giving me such a lot of thought as to how to channel the issues I face inside of myself against a backdrop of facing down the existence I currently live within. As I live in the city, my access to nature is heath, canal walks, and then out into the countryside. However inside, of my cells, I am trying to find a way to bridging the external to come and walk gently in barefeet and touch the land and be apart of nature.

I see so much dis-ease and dis comfort from those around me and I wish to offer help knowing that my own journey is about self love.

I can feel movement though dimmed by city particles blocked by the trajectory of buildings, pollution, people in their head, going about their business, working for the machine.

I can only keep grounded and seek my connection through bare feet and breathing down into my body.

Dancing, breathing consciousnessly, allowing myself to get out of my head and into my body and create events bringing people together through films, art, music, action.

Rooting and feeling Mother Earth. 

As soon as I have an venue I will let you know x

Away with the Faeries


I wrote this in France last summer…waving with happy heart, clear, strong, passionate….I asked a dear friend what he thought and he replied:

“yay, fucking ace, awesome tunes, so many things going on , sampling field recordings, tripy vibes, strong humaness, humour, chaos, bit of politics! great.

so glad you discovered or discovering your creative music side, fucking ace making music isn’t it?

I love how you can lay something down , listen to it back and then have a conversation with yourself, indirectly with a slightly older different different version of yourself, spiral of life..improving it and therefore changing yourself in the endless process, its fucking addictive and you can lose yourself in it as much as you want…time permitting [thats the hardest bit]

looking forward to hearing more :)))” Richard D. James

I am proud and pleased and ok to just get things out into the open whether they be understood or not..I have the capacity to broaden my own self learning after years of flagellating and causing a lot of self harm.

I can now fully understand that life is an unfolding process that comes to points in times of growth, and self realigning. This takes courage and interest in an authentic bridging of ones own imagination.

In the past two years I have learnt a little thing called Logic and am in a big part of my life upon learning to play piano, learning to trust that I am good enough now and that all that I have is all that I need.

In self developing, and allowing myself to publish things on my own site is a dream, though much still needs to be carefully administered and that hurts, cos a lot of  the stuff behind wordpress drives me mad…grr…none the less…publishing allows the artist to feel how they wish to bring out stuff that bubbles up under the radar, surface, body, soul, spirit and as it rises, I have now a go to.

In the world of fairies, I have a very big alliance and affiliation with them.

Growing up in my childhood, meant my guides were strong in essence and they bridged strongly in my consciousness particularly  in times of total rejection and pure terror as my keepers were often very tough on my little shoulders and to never know about simple wholesome values that meant I was loved, and supported, I would fall naturally in to the natural kingdoms and into my imagination dreaming of other places to live, with clean sheets, and nice bedding, pairs of matched socks and clean underwear, all these things were missing out of my childhood.

My mother was no longer around to keep me safe, and yes I know innately I chose to come back and live here with these handicaps, to grow from the constant NO, No, No.

After all, I had a lot to be grateful for, and my father always made sure I remembered my place growing up on a farm with animals and so many places to roam freely, explore and create something else, was so wonderful. His catchwords to me were: “You nearly lost me the farm”, and “If it wasn’t for Aunty Binks/Audrey, this would all be gone” as he swept his hands across the land. She, Aunty Binks, came to pass her name when we all stood in front of her on the middle sitting room with the red carpet then laid, as we were introduced from her own mouth, as she said: “You are to call me Aunty Binks”. My older 6 year old brother, Jonathan, said in a knowing voice “But you aren’t our Aunty, you are the housekeeper”, she looked at him and said: “If you don’t call me Aunty Binks, I wont answer you”. I was barely 5, Lester was 4. We didn’t understand. WE were just told by our mother, that she was the housekeeper.

Yet, in doors, a crushed aloofness was the daily grinding vibe and Aunty Binks was not kind to me, or my brothers and sister. She had no real compassion for us. It is hard to describe that sort of existence at such a close hand, and growing up in a sort of spell, a covering of shadows everywhere, and unwritten pay off was taking place that in the years to follow, it became clear, that this person who was sleeping with my father, still married at that early years to her husband, Uncle Binks, who lived in the house too, and who was carrying on with a woman named Margot, it was quite confusing, adults behaving in undercurrents of self seeking, driven by their own wants, needs, desires and outcomes. And then of course, as I was my fathers first born, I had such a connection to him, and yet, in the events that unfolded through out those years, those very short years, as it now came to pass, I shudder and I also have some compulsive love, unconditioned of course to the farm, the house, the inside, the memories of which I know will be furrowed in a set of patterns that my child like mind brings up wards.

It meant I had to do a lot of work in the years I left home. I was intense, fiery, incredibly kind and willing, I never wanted to take be a NO Man, so I became a Yes girl, which of course meant I had no boundaries and I was easily led. I would always put others in front of me. I always helped others first, thinking and feeling that I would never be like Aunty Binks.




Little Clusters of emotional bombs

unmanageable thinking

taking up time, feeding a fractionated mind

madness in clinging to the old parts of people pleasing


Remembering that little girl who piped up words to the adults, please take notice

creating an intense separation inside

crushing the ability to suffering shadows

dressing inner purity hiding down in an attic somewhere

with coping behaviours taking a distinct turn

wishing to be ever so good,  pretty, held

only it is on pause


A magpie takes little things from there and here,



being held in a sort of social engineering

seaward bound into an esoteric ocean

which becomes real meaning


Once the voice to wish our selves well,

breaks through the deep old well

as the death of a child becomes a fantasy teenager

rhythmically  life takes over

Legs opened, heart warm plenty for all, just so long as that smile keeps glowing

carrying on in a same sort of breath


Later, in the muddling years, does the movement rudder break forcing

the clattering wooden vessel to repair

her sails come down to be repaired and cleaned

the work can truly begin


Even from that acting up one bows down to growing up,

ready to let go seeds a scattering

wide nets full  of hope,

wishing mantras everywhere,

blown with the wind in her neatly mended souls

o everything, anyone who will listen

feel their natural part in this correlation


Should see upon their shore, a little girl crying to herself,

Hold out your hand, reach deep into  your heart

united by our duty to hold each other;

Be warned to listen inwardly to a  voice that is

potentially godlike


takes up hold of the small thing,

a child is left no longer wondering alone, broken hearted

all can reach out holding her hand

as she walks feeling familiar ground


She listens

noticing a crowd

of elders, willing her to come

She will sleep well tonight

All will be done


Mimg_0233ia Manners Feb 2017